


Guesswork

by Regency



Category: Criminal Minds, Law & Order: SVU
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon, Canon-Typical Violence, Case Fic, F/F, Gen, Short Chapters, may be ooc, old fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-21
Updated: 2015-08-21
Packaged: 2018-04-16 10:30:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 5,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4621956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Regency/pseuds/Regency
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU. The first time Liv meets Casey, Alex is alive and well, and Casey is falling for a Fed named JJ Jareau. Liv, to her misfortune, is falling for Casey at the very same time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Cool.

He drank straight OJ but it looked like a Screwdriver, so he had two.  He liked the look of a man with a drink, but he didn’t like the buzz—made it hard to think.  He sipped but the drinks still went quick. He’d been here all night, watching for that special girl, waiting for her to show her face. He’d know her by her disposition, and maybe by her smile.  He was looking forward to it, actually.

                Then, he found her. 

                Four-foot-eleven and stacked to beat the band.  He liked her immediately.

                He tapped the bar and ordered another drink.


	2. Body Dump.

Liv jumped out of the car as Elliot pulled it to a stop.  The crowd had arrived early, but not before uniforms had erected the crime scene tape.  If the call was to be believed, they’d just found another victim of the New Day Strangler.

                Three months ago, a woman had been discovered raped and garroted in the backyard of her home during the early morning. She was still dressed for a night on the town. Two weeks later, another woman was found in a similar state.  Two more weeks later, another woman.  It had become an eerie and obvious trend.  Women were being strangled and left for dead outside their own homes dressed in their best and violated beyond measure.  This was SVU’s area of expertise but it wasn’t long before they realized that they were in over their head in a big way.

                This guy, whoever he was, wasn’t an indiscriminate killer. He was methodical, careful, and considerate.  He didn’t take just any woman, but they weren’t similar in any discernable way.  He had a range of tastes; class didn’t appear relevant, beauty, however, was a factor.  They were all very beautiful, even uncommonly so.  He was an enigma. They’d needed someone to anticipate this guy, someone who could make heads or tails of his pattern of violence. That’s where the FBI came in at Huang’s recommendation.

                Out of the black suburban behind them, stepped the FBI’s vaunted Behavioral Analysis Unit. A solemn bunch, they made their way past the crowd without a lot of fanfare.  When the Feds arrived, everybody knew the circus was in town.

                That, Liv could have done without.  While SVU was out of their depth when it came to singlehandedly analyzing the perp’s behavior, they covered their bases pretty well evidence-wise.  She took it personally when federal agents took it upon themselves to show up at one of her crime scenes.  If the stiffening in Elliot’s posture was any indication, he had similar feelings.  _The spirit of inter-agency cooperation_ , she reminded herself.  When the tall, thin kid yanked the white sheet too far in trying to get a good look at the victim’s wounds, her baser instincts won out.

                “Hey,” she shouted from where she was consulting the patrolmen on duty.

                He started, nearly tripping over the coroner in his mission to rise from his crouched position on the ground.  He was immediately apologetic, holding up his hands and backing away from the body.  It wasn’t his turf, he knew when not to touch—or, at least, he was learning.

                The lead supervisory agent, whom Liv remembered went by the name Hotch, was having a harder time learning not to glower. Apparently, it was his default setting.

                Brilliant or not, the last thing she needed was a Fed unit full of misfits and a murderer with an appetite for offbeat beauty, alongside the migraine that had been threatening for days.  Something had to give because this investigation couldn’t get much more off-track or they’d be investigating themselves.

                “I thought they were supposed to help,” she hissed to Elliot, who shrugged.

                “So far we got what we expected. All talk, no walk.  Surprise, surprise.”

                They needed to pull it together: it had only been a week since their last victim. The son of a bitch was escalating.


	3. Psychoanalysis.

Liv had just returned from the morgue with Elliot when she saw that her desk was occupied.  Sitting in her chair with her legs resting on her desktop was Assistant District Attorney Alexandra Cabot.  Her expression gave away that she was ill at ease; that and she was tapping her nails on the arm of Liv’s chair.  She was thinking too hard.  Understandable since there was a rapist-cum-murderer on the loose that her detectives had yet to identify.  The buck was going to stop eventually, and it would likely stop with her.

                The veteran detective had never quite understood that, how ADAs became accountable for the things that beat cops couldn’t get done, but there it was.  Alex was where the buck stopped and, this time, the buck was enormous.  She didn’t want to be Alex today.  Frankly, given the state of things, she didn’t want to be Olivia either.  She didn’t think they were going to catch this guy—and definitely not before he struck again.

She didn’t bother trying to evict Alex from her seat; instead, she perched on the edge of her desk and picked through the messages some clerk had left her to find _. Nothing.  Nothing. Something to look at eventually. Something else. Something else to look at._

                _Another possible witness,_ she thought and wordlessly handed the carbon note to her partner. Alex swung her legs down and leaned forward, appearing at least somewhat interested in the possible lead.  There hadn’t been many. At this point, a wild goose chase was better than nothing.

                “Myra Glasgow,” he read, curious.  “The bartender at _Drama_.” He looked at her for an explanation.  She shrugged and, turned, surrendered the floor to Alex whose social life far surpassed her own.

“What’s _Drama_ —aside from the obvious?” The blonde gave her an incredulous look.

“I don’t know every nightclub and bar in Manhattan. Even if I did, a place with a name like ‘Drama,’”she emphasized with her fingers, “wouldn’t be exactly my speed. Please give me some credit, Liv.”

The dark-eyed detective stood up in submission. “All right, all right. Forget I asked.”  Saying it didn’t stop her from notably smirking since she’d known Alex to slum in some pretty pathetic joints when the mood seized her.

“Shut up,” was Alex’s answer to the remark that went unspoken. Liv’s smirk just widened.  Elliot’s grew to match; then, it dwindled as he took to rubbing the back of his neck.

“Back at the ranch,” he grunted, waving the case file. “ _Drama,_ anyone?”

Liv scratched her ear in annoyance and stretched. This case had made her tense. “Probably some kind of nightclub. No idea what kind though. Maybe the vic tried the place out.” She shrugged, out of ideas.  She hadn’t gone out socially in years. Clubbing was for people who slept at night.

“We won’t know until we ask. Guess we’re looking for some drama.”  He perused the message again. “I don’t even know where this is.”

“Google is your friend, my friend,” commented Munch who’d been discreetly listening for the duration. He handed the detective a piece of paper with a map and directions. “Enjoy the trip. I bet it’s really your scene.”

Her blue-eyed partner muttered some of the cross-streets.  His eyebrows rose to new heights, seemingly of their own volition.  “We can’t just send the Feds? Because, I have a feeling there’s gonna be some subtext that goes right over my head here.”

Olivia shared a grin with Alex.  “Elliot, do we need to bring Munch along?”

“Why Munch?”

The man in question settled himself primly on the edge of Elliot’s desk. “Because I speak proficient Lesbian, of course.” Liv settled in for this one since if Munch was in on it, it never failed to please.

“I can see how that’d be useful,” called a voice from the edge of the bullpen.  Liv couldn’t have kept her eyes from rolling with tape and a mirror. _The Feds_ , she growled internally.  They’d been here a grand total of three days and she’d wanted to ship them back _yesterday._

“Agent Doctor Reid,” Munch exclaimed, bringing the tall, wiry kid with the penchant for tactlessness into their circle. Liv still couldn’t understand what it was about him that Munch seemed to take to. He’d taken him under his wing immediately and it had made inter-agency relations somewhat easier—if ‘easier’ could be used as a relative term.

“You can just call me Doctor Reid—or Agent, whichever you prefer.” He stuck his hands in his pockets as if he didn’t know what to do them. Liv was left to wonder whether he was always quite this awkward.

“All right, Doctor it is,” Munch decided in a tone that told Liv this wasn’t an issue any of them got a vote on. _Okay, then_. It was one less thing to argue about.

“So, any new leads?” Reid asked for lack of a better opening query.

Elliot looked inspired. “Yup, just got one.” He handed over the pink slip and sat back to watch.  “Barkeep at some placed called _Drama._ Saved it for you guys; thought you’d maybe wanna take a look.”

For his part, Reid inspected the paper methodically.  Olivia could actually visualize his mental gears going strong.  She sat up a little straighter. He didn’t look so much like a kid when he was in his element.

                “This is a different establishment than the other women went to on the nights preceding their deaths,” he explained after his contemplative silence.  “As we all know, these women were dressed for…pleasure, for want of a better phrase.  Clearly they’d spent the night elsewhere only to be abducted. The question is when and, of course, why?”

The bullpen quieted momentarily as the FBI crew began to think in earnest. The lead agent wore his usual terse expression, but also the cogs, they visibly moved.  The two women, Jareau and Prentiss, were involved in whispered discussion.  The tall, dark agent, Morgan, seemed to have appointed himself guardian of the over-educated doctor because he didn’t move. Even still, it was plain to see that he was thinking along with the rest.

“Any theories,” Liv prompted once it became evident that most everything was going unsaid.

“In spite of their differences, these women are incredibly similar,” Prentiss rhetorically remarked.  “By all accounts, they were all successful and fulfilled. They owned their own homes and had large circles of friends and acquaintances. These weren’t lonely people and they weren’t naïve. Catching them unawares would have taken a smooth operator.”

“He’d have to give an Oscar-worthy performance even then,” Hotchner added. “A couple of these women were divorced. They wouldn’t have fallen for just anything.” _Speaks the voice of personal experience_ , Liv judged.

Elliot was unimpressed. “So we have a smooth operator of above average intelligence who knows what women want? Great, that narrows it down to every slick-haired guy who reads _Cosmo_ on a regular basis.” He picked up the directions Munch had given him and his coat.  “You can analyze this guy all you want. I was trained to do police work. You know, talk to witnesses and beat the pavement. That’s what I intend to do.” He turned to Liv. “You coming?”

Liv felt Alex’s bald stare in her direction. There were things to discuss, always things with them.  She shrugged, closed-mouthed. “I think you and Munch can handle it. Let me know how it pans out.”

“You got it.” Tossing a disbelieving look to the man in shades, Elliot backed out and popped his coat on.  Munch was cool on his heels.

“This is gonna be fun,” she was sure she heard him say.  Honestly, she wouldn’t put it past him to ‘speak Lesbian,’ whatever that was.  Whatever he did would at worst be a distraction from the monotony; it’d probably also make a hell of a story. Liv was in need of that kind of laugh.

Once they were gone, she only had one question she could think to ask, “How bad is this guy gonna get? He’s got an M.O. He’s got a type of some kind. He’s escalating. You’re the profilers; tell me why.”

“Maybe he feels we’re closing in on him,” proposed Morgan.

“Then, you can certainly add delusional to his profile,” murmured Alex behind her.

Hotchner momentarily came to life.  “Your confidence in your detectives is awe-inspiring.”

Alex was immediately on the defensive. “My confidence in them is limitless, but I know when we’ve been outdone. At this juncture, I’m simply managing expectations. It’s the best thing to do right now.”

“The best thing to do would be to catch this guy,” Jareau corrected, ending the silent streak she’d been on since the day began.  “If you manage expectations too well, you create panic and chaos in the community. That could flush the unsub out _or_ that could send him so far underground we’ll never catch him, then.” She crossed her arms in front of her and continued, “Even if he never kills again, he has to be punished for what crimes he’s already committed.”

“That’s one thing we agree on,” said one blonde to another.  “I believe my detectives are fully capable of catching him. Nevertheless, in the meantime, I have to report to Arthur Branch that the most startling development we’ve made in this case is that John Munch speaks gay.”

“Lesbian,” Prentiss chirped, beginning to smile. “It’s important to be precise.”

“Of course,” Alex flashed a smile in return. The air, then, got a little thick for Liv’s taste.

_Of course_ , she parroted inwardly, trying hard not to let it show on her face.  She’d be lying if she said she wasn’t the jealous type. Although she and Alex had never made the leap to full-time lovers from friends, there were certain things that went without saying. Flirting with other women within earshot of each other was high on the ‘Not to Do’ list, maybe even at the very top.

“He thinks we’re on to him,” she barreled forth, choosing to ignore the once-over Alex and Prentiss were giving each other.  She wouldn’t be the fool who envied a stranger for what she hadn’t had the courage to do. They existed in a holding pattern because that was where Liv had kept them. It had been inevitable that somebody would break it. “Why does he think that? What have we done that’s spooked him into changing his M.O.?”

                Reid tapped his forehead head as though he’d discovered the answer to the most obvious question known to man.  “You called us.” At her dubious expression, he clarified, “That’s what did it. I’ve reviewed media coverage of the investigation and I’ve found that the media spoke constantly about the FBI being called in to assist, even before the order was given. It was propaganda at the time since the police department believed they had the situation under control. However, once he reached victim number six…”

                Liv nodded. “All bets were off.”

                “Exactly. It wasn’t simply propaganda anymore. It was fact. The FBI was sending agents to investigate. If my analysis is correct, our suspect fears the FBI or federal authorities of any kind.”

                Morgan carried the thought to its conclusion: “He thinks we’ll catch him.”

                “And if we catch him, he knows he’ll be put to death,” Alex supplied, looking for all the world as if the buck had already stopped.

                “So he’s finishing his work early,” Jareau said unnecessarily.

                Hotchner seemed to take a measure of comfort in laying a hand on his service weapon. “We have four days till his next big event. Let’s head him off at the pass.”


	4. Procedure.

                They didn’t head him off at the pass.

                Squatting on the ground, Liv did her best to ignore the flashbulbs in the distance. The crime scene tape had been erected per standard procedure but not far enough away to prevent the desperate paparazzi from trying. They wanted a picture; they wanted a front page, even if it was at the expense of an ongoing serial murder investigation. This was their piece of the pie. She wanted to throw the pie in their face.

                Sylvia Pleshette, 37, was draped across the merry-go-round like a wilted bloom and the world would have loved a picture of that.  She had been garroted same as all the others, in a gory send-up to a pensive frown, mocking the misery forever written on her face. Liv felt her lips drop into a similar expression.  They needed to catch this guy. Every moment felt like he was slipping away.

                “She was beautiful in life,” said Prentiss as she cast a shadow over Liv.  She scanned the woman with a practiced, detached eye, but the words failed to match her appearance.

                “How do you know?” Liv had to ask.  To her perception, death had eaten away at anything that might have made this woman shine. She’d been left in a grotesque shape, as though the killer had taken it upon himself to rearrange what nature had constructed—as though it didn’t satisfy him in its current state.

                “Aside from the profile,” Prentiss began, “I saw pictures in her home. Angles were her enemy as they can be to anyone, but in the right light she was…startling.”  Her stoicism failed her and she looked away.  Liv saw right through her.

                Looking back down to the woman who had become a doctor who had become a corpse, she turned down the light in her mind’s eye and imagined laughter where resignation had swept in.  Then, her stoicism failed her too and she had to look away.


	5. Tactical Support.

“Branch wants to see more results,” Alex announced without so much as a hello. Her dark-framed glasses failed to hide the icier shade of blue that her eyes had turned since finding out.  She didn’t pace, she didn’t rail; Alexandra Cabot was absolutely still and perhaps that was the most frightening thing she could have done. Or so she’d been told.

                Elliot tossed down the same file he’d been reading and rereading for the past two hours. “I’d love to see more results. Unfortunately for the both of us, that would require more suspects and we won’t get any of that until we have a credible lead.”

                “I have to tell Branch something.” Alex threw down her briefcase and coat, and braced herself on the back of Liv’s empty chair. She unconsciously scanned the squad room for the dark-haired detective, but let her absence go unchallenged for the time being.

                “You can tell him where to shove his wants if it’ll make you feel better,” Fin murmured from behind another mediocre cup of coffee.

                “It would,” Alex confirmed, defrosting marginally, “but it would also probably cost me my job. And, believe it or not, I actually like being able to buy nice things.”

                “No worries, Alex,” Munch remarked, sliding behind his desk with a cup of day-old dreck of his own to slog through. “I can buy you nice things. Just say the word.”

                She swallowed the chuckle that bubbled to the surface at Munch’s thinly-veiled innuendo.  “How about ‘no’? But thank you for that generous—and tempting—offer.”

 Munch gestured in resignation.  “I can only offer.” Fin looked at him askance with his textbook incredulity.  Sometimes, Alex was sure their partnership was an act. Munch was every bit the comedian and Fin was the consummate straight man. They were just beyond belief, but they worked. In a lot of ways, her relationship with Liv was also beyond belief, too.

“Where’s Liv,” she asked the assembled group of detectives.

“With the Feds,” Elliot replied with more than a hint of annoyance.  “They wanted to revisit the various crime scenes to try and enhance their profile. Cragen okayed it.” He punched the keys a little too hard when he logged into the system.

                “Ah,” was all she could think to say.  If there was anyone who was less of a fan of federal intervention, she hadn’t met them yet.  “They come up with anything useful so far?”

                “Define ‘ _useful_ ,’” Fin jibed.

                She couldn’t have stopped her deadpan expression if she tried—and she didn’t. “As in ‘having use.’”

                “Then, definitely not,” Munch concluded.  He paused to wipe his glasses on his tie. Seeing him unshielded was a jarring moment for Alex.

                “Not even your protégé, the Agent Doctor Reid?” Moment passed. She sat down in the chair beside Liv’s desk.

                “Kid’s a genius, but so’s the perp. Genius against genius, somebody’s gotta come out on bottom. Looks like it’s gonna be our side.” The man all in black settled in for a long stay.

                “If that’s really the case, we’re going to have to start looking under rocks, which is what I was afraid of.”

                “Any specific reason,” Elliot asked, apparently done with his momentary sulk.

                “Branch has decided that, even with the FBI, we don’t have enough heads on this case. He’s having me bring the ADA from Homicide on board.”

                Munch and Fin shared disbelieving looks to which Alex could only raise her hands. “I know, you don’t have to tell me. He tells me she’s good. Hasn’t been at it long but she’s made her mark and her conviction record is solid. He tells me she’s good and, whether or not she is, she’s coming.”

                “This ADA got a name,” Fin asked.

                Alex nodded. “Casey Novak.  Maybe you’ve heard of her.”

                Munch suddenly piped up, “I have.”

                Fin put down his coffee cup, seemingly done with it for the time being.  “Don’t tell me. You two had a thing.”

                Munch smiled dryly. “Ha ha. No.”

                “She was your fourth wife,” Elliot volunteered.

“No, you’ve met my fourth wife,” Munch carried on, sounding exasperated. “Casey Novak is not her by any means. Tried to get her to let me buy her nice things, too, but she wasn’t feeling it.”

Alex shrugged innocently. “These things happen.” She had to wonder if being ADA was synonymous with being on Munch’s ‘To Do’ List. She wasn’t sure yet.

Munch snorted. “Yeah, they do.” He sat back, tapping his fingers on his desk. “Branch is right. Casey’s good, her instincts are good. She’ll come through for us if we give her the evidence. Hell, she’ll come through for us if we just give her suspects. She’s got a nose for whack jobs.”

Fin got up to refill his cup.  “Then, I bet she’ll fit right in.”


	6. Statuesque with Porcelain Skin.

                Liv hated it when things changed in the unit without her knowing. No one ever seemed to think they’d all benefit from the circulation of a memo.  A memo would have prevented her from getting the surprise of her life when she was approached by a beautiful woman at the most recent crime scene.

                She’d been prepared to gently, if regretfully, rebuff any advances the woman had been planning to make when she’d whipped out her credentials and introduced herself as, “Casey Novak, ADA for Homicide.”

                Olivia’d had no choice but to shake her hand.  It wasn’t a delicate hand by any means. The gesture was firm without being overbearing; but, mostly just no-nonsense and assertive. Short manicured nails and calluses on the palms and along the pads of the fingers.  Liv sized her up like a perp.  She was tall, very tall. Pale with green eyes and hair that was just a shade off from auburn, she didn’t look like the women that Liv saw every day.  She didn’t feel like them either.  And, for a moment, Liv forgot that she was supposed to identify herself, too.

                As though her thoughts were written on a billboard behind her, the ADA tipped her substantial lips in a half-smile.  “It’s nice to finally meet you, Detective Benson.  Looks like we’re going to be working together for the foreseeable future.”

                Liv’s eyebrows rose ahead of her ability to still them.  This, she hadn’t been told about.  “Is that so?” At Novak’s placid nod, Liv pulled out her cell.  “I hope you understand that I need to call this in for confirmation.”

                The ADA nodded again, turning her head to survey the scene with quiet intensity.  Liv’s fingers dialed Alex’s number of their own volition while Liv’s eyes saw fit to take in the newest member of this case’s already-bloated team.  She knew Alex would be pissed that there’d been another ADA assigned for the duration, but she figured her reaction couldn’t be any worse than Elliot’s when the Feds had showed up.  No one liked their feet stepped on or their territory usurped. This case had the makings of a beautiful showdown and Liv would be lying if she said that, save for the circumstances, she wouldn’t be enjoying the view.

                Alex’s voice was three sentences into her ear before she realized she hadn’t even heard the first one.

                “Alex, hey. I’ve just had the pleasure of meeting an ADA Casey Novak.  She says she’s working this case now. What’s up?”

                “Branch,” was all she said and it was explanation enough.

                Liv nodded in understanding emulation of her newest ADA.  “Got it.  I’ll keep an eye on her today and bring her in.  See ya then.”  She smiled at Alex’s textbook goodbye and ended the call.  Turning back to where she’d last seen Novak, she found her in quiet conversation with the same brunette that had distracted Alex.  Liv had to admit that it was taking work not to be annoyed by Prentiss’ easy rapport with everyone she met.

                Firmly shoving those thoughts aside, Liv dusted off her leather jacket and joined the huddle. Without so much as a glance in her direction, Novak took a half-step aside to make room for her.  Prentiss flashed at her a quick, friendly grin and Liv had to reassess her initial estimate of the woman.  Some people were simply naturally charming, she reflected, and comforted herself with that.

                “Where are Reid, Morgan, and Hotchner,” she asked once she realized that the men, made somewhat conspicuous in this very nice, very lesbian establishment, were nowhere to be found.

                Prentiss and the mutely observing Jareau shared an amused glance. “They thought they might be better suited to visiting some of the less…specialized scenes,” Prentiss answered for the both of them.

                “So, the non-lesbian bars?”

                “Not necessarily non-lesbian,” Jareau qualified. “Some were gay bars that catered to both gay and lesbian clientele.  They felt that the employees and patrons would have a more positive response to them there.”

                Liv tipped her head in comprehension. It made sense. It wasn’t any different than what Special Victims would have done, once more begging the question of why the FBI had to be called in the first place. But, like the good detective she was, Liv wasn’t going to keep beating a dead horse.

                “So, what did we get out of this place,” she inquired instead.

                “Victim number three, Emmaline Roche, came here the night before her body was discovered in the backyard of a nice house just over the Brooklyn Bridge.  What we’re looking for here is a man out of place,” Prentiss supplied as the only certified profiler among them.

                Novak agreed.  “That’s probably the reason the perp didn’t stake out too many lesbian clubs. He couldn’t blend in here. Any of the other places, however, would have been much easier.  I think this our best bet. This is the one place where he might have screwed up.”

                Liv blew out a slow breath.  “Then, it looks like we’ve got our work cut out for us.”

                “Doesn’t it always,” said her new ADA, and Liv couldn’t help but agree.

 


	7. Fodder for the Profile.

                While Liv had never been a big fan of fireworks, she discovered that she liked sparks even less the moment Casey Novak met Alex.  Their fingers touched, respectively long, elegant, and pale, and there was an almost visible eruption of heat between them. Where Alex was icy, Casey was a dry heat. Where the blonde was stoic, the redhead was a veritable deluge of impressions so overwhelming as to be equal to none.  They would have cancelled each other out if they didn’t go together so well.

                Liv hated sparks, but maybe, she thought, they’d get the job done.

                Casey was a master at creating sparks. She seemed like fodder for the profilers to Liv.  She wore her emotions in her eyes and on her sleeves.  Her smiles were wan, but she was the least whimsical person Liv had ever met.  While she disarmed the genius right away, she was stunted by the liaison.  They crossed paths and Liv was sure she was in the presence of lovers, former or otherwise.

                “I had a feeling I’d run into you,” Jareau began.

                “That’s funny because I had the same feeling about you,” Casey replied, eyes seemingly greener than Liv remembered from before.  They didn’t hesitate to share space, to talk in lowered tones, to whisper shared remembrances in the presence of the rest of them.  It was easy to do that, though, since most of that was done without a word.  Just a look and one or the other was under a spell.

                Prentiss shifted uncharacteristically uneasy on her feet.  Liv tried not to note herself doing the same.  A new element added to any equation might be good, but it could also be damned uncomfortable.  In recent days, the team had developed a choreography, a routine.  They knew who gelled and who’d tear each other apart as soon as look at one another by now.  They also knew who, well, went together; and what pairings were not to be disturbed.  That was something Novak didn’t yet know.

                And it showed.

                Until, she came to Munch.  Munch, the conspiracy theorist. Munch, the multiple-divorcee. Munch, the one who was suspicious of pretty much everyone at some point.  Munch, who gave her a handshake and kiss on the cheek along with his, “Welcome to the team. Now, we’re getting somewhere.”

                Munch made everything better and Novak seemed to know that. Liv suddenly realized why she’d saved him for last.  She might have been fresh-faced, but Casey Novak was no one’s fool.   _If you can convince the loveable crackpot…_

                Finding said women’s eyes pinned to her, Liv knew she was right.  She got a nod for her trouble and a faint, entertained glimmer as validation.  Casey would not be an easy woman to ignore and Liv could no longer imagine trying.

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own either the recognizable characters from Criminal Minds or any characters recognizable as being from Law & Order: Special Victims Unit. They are the property of their respective producers, writers, and studios, not me. The subtitle “Statuesque with Porcelain Skin” quotes the serial killer Robert Morten in the Ninth Season episode “Svengali” upon being introduced to ADA Casey Novak. It seemed like something that would be romantic if it was being said by pretty much anyone else. No copyright infringement was intended and no money was made in the writing or distribution of this story. It was good, clean fun.
> 
> If you guys wanna talk/flail/flop with me on Tumblr, I'm [sententiousandbellicose](http://sententiousandbellicose.tumblr.com).


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